


Anemones

by CryptidBane (Impetus)



Series: Lunchtime Shorts [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: 1x10, 1x11, Angst, F/F, Hanahaki AU, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possible Character Death, Pre 1x12, season 1 timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impetus/pseuds/CryptidBane
Summary: Magnus Bane always knew he would die one day. He just never expected to be done in by flowers.





	Anemones

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prologue for what may or not become more. It probably will extend because I love flower angst so much. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It’s a sad, slow death; it doesn’t suit him at all. Though he has to admit that it is beautiful.

There’s a blue petal in his coffee. Its edges bump against the walls of his mug, thin traces of saliva glistening in the morning sunlight. Magnus stares at it with quiet resignation.

The warlocks of the Spiral Labyrinth claim that it’s the residual effects of a long-standing seelie curse.

Something about a seelie who loved a warlock, only to find that the warlock never loved them at all. The seelie’s anguish planted seeds of sorrow in their gut. It is said that the queen loved this seelie—a seelie with a beautiful heart even the queen could not sway. Petals, the color lost to history and folklore, poured from their mouth.

The queen watched as one of her own suffered. She found her favored seelie alone, dead but for the flowers that had sprouted from their chest. So the queen sought out the warlock; but they did not care, for they pined for another.

Seelies have always lived in a world of equal cruelty. Beautiful, deadly, and full of consequence. A life for a life. And the seelie queen is nothing if not vindictive.

It seems a bit dramatic to curse a whole species, Magnus thinks. But he can respect that. Far be it from him to judge. And so, the acts of one foolish warlock condemned them all.

It’s taken a long time, but Magnus loves being a warlock. He’s proud. His magic is a part of him, the regrets of immortality an equal pillar of his identity. It seems ironic that the thing to keep him alive for so long would also spell his death.

Magic, cultivating roots that crowd his lungs and climb his throat. So Magnus does what he does best. He summons a bottle of Irish whiskey and pours it into the coffee, mixing with a silver spoon. Magnus finishes his drink and summons a portal. He leaves, banishing the cup, petal and all.

***

The Spiral Labyrinth feels like a living breathing thing. Perhaps because it is so ancient, it has come alive. Maybe Magnus is just waxing poetic in his hopelessness. He always liked last words. The concept of his own still feels foreign despite the bitter taste in his mouth and the roughness in the back of throat.

Last words or bright blue blossoms. Either way, he leaves something beautiful behind. Maybe. His last words could be idiotic or nonexistent. Warlocks aren’t known to die peacefully.

This might be a befitting way for him to die after all.

Tessa greets him with furrowing brows and the rustling of her skirt on smooth grey stone. They exchange kisses in greeting. She lays a hand on Magnus’ cheek and watches as he coughs, dry and wretched.

A small clump of petals bunches between Magnus’ hand and his lips. Tessa lets out a soft noise, low and mournful.

“Oh, Magnus…” Tessa says. She pries his fingers apart and watches as his love decorates the floor. Within seconds, the flowers vanish, Magnus unable to bear looking at them any longer. Tessa strokes the height of his cheekbone with her thumb. “How can I help?”

“I need a cure,” Magnus murmurs. “I thought I might find one here. I know I don’t have any...fairytales in my collection. I deal with enough fae in real life. No need looking for them in books,” he says with a wink. Tessa grants him a small half-smile.

“Let’s see if we can find any records of this. We can start with the fairytales and then move on to medical records,” Tessa says. “We warlocks don’t get sick often; the archives are likely dated and sparse, but it’s worth a try.”

Magnus nods and gestures with his hand, coughing again. “After you,” he manages, biting down and tasting bitterness. Tessa plucks the offending petal from his lips and turns away. She says nothing as she leads him to a dim stairwell.

There are torches mounted in the slate walls, glowing and constant as they descend into the earth. Tessa walks with one hand gliding along strings of old wards carved into the stone. Magnus follows her with a handkerchief pressed to his mouth, his free hand trailing alongside hers as he pays tribute with bursts of his own magic.

The stairs open up onto a landing lit with gold. Magnus spots the roots of several trees riddling the floor as they trail upward and cut through bookcases. Leaves scatter magical sunlight along worn spines of bound leather and the occasional modern book. Soft grass grows in patches and tickles Magnus’ ankles.

Magnus looks at Tessa, brow raising as he tucks his kerchief away and strides forward to examine the selection the labyrinth offers. Tessa giggles and touches the trunk of a tree, admiring the sweet-smelling white blossoms.

“The children like it,” Tessa says by way of explanation. “It makes their reading experience more...immersive.”

“It’s nice,” Magnus admits. “If a bit unwelcome during this particular time.” A wince, and Magnus regrets his words. “It _is_ nice, Tessa. I’m glad that the children have a place like this for them to explore.” She nods and moves to look over another bookcase overtaken by pink roses.

Magnus returns to his task and skims the titles. There are mundane stories here too, Magnus notes. He skips past _Baba Yaga_ and pauses for a moment over _Sleeping Beauty_. His throat itches.

“What about this?” Tessa asks, voice catching on branches and books and the petals Magnus coughs onto the grass.

He steps on them heel-first.

They meet in the middle, standing amongst the boughs of a weeping willow. She offers him the book. It’s thin and unassuming with yellowed pages and time-worn ink.

 _Flora,_   the cover reads. Something inside of Magnus whispers that this does not belong here. There are dark stories hidden in the pages all around them, filled with lost children and hungry witches; but this one, in its simplicity, seems the worst of them all.

He opens it.

“It’s written in ancient seelie script,” Tessa explains.

“That sounds promising,” Magnus agrees.

He studied the language when Ragnor refused to translate a love note for him over two hundred years ago. Ragnor had scoffed at the naivete of his undertaking, but Magnus had been stubborn. The love note actually turned out to be a spell that turned the paper into fireworks when the words were read aloud. Magnus stumbled his way through it, and was rewarded with burnt hair and singed eyebrows for his trouble. Very romantic.

Magnus skims the first page. The words come to him much smoother now than they did then, and Magnus nods in satisfaction. A seelie in love with a winged warlock. This will do nicely.

“To the medical records?” He asks. Tessa smiles.

“To the medical records.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter @CryptidBane so please feel free to yell at me or with me. I’ll be tracking this with #HanaMalec  
> so I’d love to hear from you!
> 
> I adore hanahaki AU. This was originally intended to be short and sweet—a drabble with no commitment, but c’est la vie.


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